Chapter 41

I 'm going back to Northglen.

The words haunted Baron. His own response haunted him even more.

Because instead of saying, "I'm coming with you," he hadn't said anything at all. He'd let the moment pass in the rush of Aria readying her things and Silas saying goodbye.

The parting with his best friend still ached.

"Come visit me in Pravusat," Silas had said, hands in his pockets, attempting to be nonchalant. "I'll teach you the best insults in Pravish, show you the ocean cliffs in Izili. Cat-and-crow will love it."

"Have you told Margaret?" Baron asked.

"Meant to. But she kept going on about how good I look with the princess and how I could pass any challenge. She's pretending hard, Gill, so I let her have it. Let her pretend one more day." He sighed. "I should have stayed away. I knew that. I kept delaying coming home ... Over there, I can be myself, every part. Whether I slither or stand, they don't care. Here, my only use is puffing Father's legacy. I'd bear his title and his grandchildren, and I'd never be free of him. Never." He nodded and finished quietly, "It was always going to end this way."

End. How Baron hated the word. He had an ending with his parents, an ending with his best friend. Now he faced one with the girl he loved.

He couldn't let Aria go to Northglen alone. At the same time, he couldn't pretend to be useful when he'd proven his use quite clearly—Aria was still cursed. She would die while he carried the power to save her.

Just like his mother. Just like his father.

Huxley shut himself in his room for the night, grumbling about the party. Corvin had already snuck off, presumably to fly after feeling caged at the event. Baron expected Leon to go feed the herd of stray cats congregating around the back door.

Instead, he settled into the couch next to Baron. Leon rarely sought company, but perhaps he'd sensed that Baron could use the comfort.

At least until he spoke.

"How many times have I told you," Leon drawled slowly, "not to be an idiot?"

Baron sighed and headed for the stairs. Undeterred, Leon stalked right along behind. When Baron reached his room and tried to close the door, the boy shouldered in all the same.

"Leon," he warned.

"Don't ‘Leon' me, Guillaume . Just because you don't like to hear it straight."

"What I'd like is a moment's peace. It's been a long day, one without sleep."

"You don't need sleep . You made Lady Highness a bottle of wake-up wine with a snap, and that's the least of what you can do. So why haven't you broken her curse yet? I saw you in that hallway, floundering."

"Let me assure you I am incapable in every way. I am under-experienced, under-skilled, and, if that weren't enough, under siege." He gave Leon a pointed look.

Leon scowled. "Don't you care about her?"

Baron braced his palms flat on the dresser top, shoulders hunched. He could still see Leon in the mirror, and he looked away.

"I'd expect this more from Corvin than you," he said at last.

"For once, he and I agree."

"What perfect timing."

Rubbing one hand over his face, Baron closed his eyes against a growing headache. His own mind echoed Leon's accusation. Don't you care about her?

He did.

Which made it hurt all the more, like lemon squeezed over a wound already bleeding.

"She's going to Northglen," Leon said. "Maybe she never comes back, or she comes back doubly cursed, or Morton just cuts to the chase and stabs her with a kitchen knife. You have to do something!"

Baron turned. "And maybe I get us both killed, don't you understand? If Widow Morton doesn't kill me, the king will, either for breaking house arrest or failing his challenge. And I can't do anything to save Aria. That's the problem."

Leon growled low in his throat.

Baron sighed again. He filled his washbasin from the pitcher beside it, though splashing his face did nothing to calm the storm inside. Not even the song of magic could reach him through the thunder.

"I didn't realize Dad's death made you a coward."

Baron's knuckles whitened around the basin's edge.

"People die, Baron. If Casters could save everyone, they'd save themselves, and they'd be immortal. Missing him is one thing. Even I miss him. Even though he was the worst dad sometimes. But blaming yourself is stupid."

"I could have saved him," Baron whispered. "If I hadn't frozen up."

Like he was freezing now.

"No, you couldn't have. I think you tell yourself that because you'd rather think it's your fault and have this weird, twisted hope it could have gone differently instead of admitting it was always hopeless. I heard the doctor, Baron. He said there was nothing anyone could do."

"Nothing he could do."

"Nothing anyone could do! He said it! You were standing right next to him, branded plain as day. Don't you think if a Caster could've helped, he would've told you to leap on in there? It's not like he wanted Dad to die. None of us wanted Dad to die! How come you get to carry all the grief like the rest of us don't matter ?"

Too late, Baron heard the hiss in his brother's voice, looked up to see his pupils sharp in the mirror. Leon gave a loud, drawn-out yowl, canines sharp around his tongue, and in a burst of white mist, the boy was a cat.

Baron leapt forward, slamming the door closed. He hadn't seen anyone in the hallway, and he prayed that was accurate. Then Leon was on him in a hissing, spitting fit, a fluffy white monstrosity of claws and teeth twisted around his leg.

"Leon." Baron grunted. He shook his leg. " Leon !"

Leon clung more firmly, kicking with his hind feet. Even through thick woolen pants, Baron felt the gouges in his skin, and he finally reached down to wrench his brother free. Held suspended, Leon flung himself wildly from side to side until Baron lost his grip.

After dropping with a thump, Leon streaked into the corner and pressed against the wall, back arched and white fur spiked in every direction.

"We never should have written that first letter!" he spat, voice edged in a feline growl.

Baron grimaced as he rubbed his leg, spots of blood already seeping through the fabric of his pants. "What letter?"

"After the stupid ball! Beak-face wouldn't stop harping, and you wouldn't stop moping, so we wrote a letter to Lady Highness. Told her we had a pretty great brother and that life shouldn't be so complicated. Clearly she believed us." Leon's ears flattened against his skull. "Realms forbid I wanted to see you happy again. If I'd known it would make everything worse, I wouldn't have bothered!"

He scrabbled forward, disappearing under the bed.

Slowly, Baron turned back to his washbasin. He pressed his left hand to his throat, felt the brand against his palm, curled his fingers into his neck. He breathed. His other hand rested against the basin, fingers trailing in the water as he closed his eyes.

For a moment, the water sang, clear and pure with crystal notes. Then it wavered. Splintered.

He heard the voices of the past, swirling around him in the dark.

My lord, your father's collapsed! Come quickly!

What happened? He's—

They've carried him to bed, my lord.

The physician's on his way, my lord.

Baron, what do we do?

Father . . .

Lord Reeves, can you hear me? He's taken on fever. Hurry, Amelia, move these blankets.

The physician's here! Martin, bring him up quickly.

Lord Reeves? Unresponsive, stiff muscles, locked jaw ... This is an advanced infection. My lord, I fear—

He's convulsing! Amelia, move the pillow.

Baron, what do we do?

Baron, do something!

Baron gasped in a quick breath, jaw trembling, throat tight. The final echo of the physician's voice lingered, quieting everything else in its morbid hush.

There's nothing I can do, my lord, I'm sorry. There's nothing anyone can do.

"Leon." Baron's voice cracked.

There's nothing anyone can do.

Leon was right.

Baron walked to his bedside and crouched. When he couldn't see Leon, he lowered himself to his stomach, peering underneath the bed slats at the shivering white cat pressed between them and the floorboards.

Extending one hand, Baron crooked his fingers. "Come here."

"No," Leon growled. "I'm not talking to you. I should have turned you into a cat and ordered you to go hunt mice in the filthy cellar. I still could."

"I understand. Come here."

Still bristling, his brother wiggled forward until Baron could reach to pull him free. It took both arms. Leon was more like a miniature lion than a stray cat; his long white fur bunched with extra volume around his neck like a mane, and he carried regal tufts of peach-colored fur along his nose and on the tips of his ears. He was also hefty .

The moment he was free, Leon flopped against the floor in front of Baron, tail twitching. He stared up with brown eyes of condemnation.

"I'm sorry," said Baron.

Leon rolled over, ears twitching to match his tail.

Baron pulled his pant leg back, winced at the gashes, and lowered it. When he stood, he limped.

"I'm sorry too," Leon mumbled. Then he said, "Aria's not like Dad. Someone can help her."

If Baron tried to help and failed, if he got himself killed and left the twins completely alone, how could he justify that?

The answer came with surprising clarity, an echo of Leon's earlier accusation: coward .

He'd meant to change a kingdom, for his own sake along with that of the twins, yet he'd retreated from every danger on the path. Hiding would not save anyone. Aria trusted him. Corvin and Leon trusted him. His father had trusted him.

Perhaps there was no hope for Baron, just an endless cycle of failed attempts to save the people he loved. He did not know how he could face that. He only knew that he could not save anyone without trying .

"I'm going to the castle," he said.

"About time," said Leon.